


Fireside Chats

by Anonymississippi



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 19:40:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9008269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymississippi/pseuds/Anonymississippi
Summary: Cat heads to the mountains for a quiet holiday with Carter, but one evening, Supergirl swoops in to discuss some of the bad press CatCo publications have been running about her in recent issues. Life-lessons spring up where you least expect them.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BridgetteIrish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BridgetteIrish/gifts).



> Secret Santa Prompt: Kara lets some of the Supergirl celebrity go to her head and Cat has to reign her in.
> 
> Hello BridgetteIrish!
> 
> Thanks for being an awesome/cool/great/swell fandom contributor. Happy Holidays to you and yours!
> 
> Best,
> 
> Missy

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The forest is like a vacuum. Not the Hoovering kind, the suction and the cleanliness, but the outer space kind, silent, deep, and darker than pitch. Dark as midnight, save for midnights like these when stars dapple the heavens, tiny sugar crystals spilled across a navy tablecloth. Cat shuts her eyes and listens for a horn or the rush of a vehicle, a shout of a pedestrian, music thundering out of speakers. She listens and listens but the trees remain voiceless up here in the Catskills, frozen, chilly, quiet—nothing like Metropolis.

Metropolis is _loud_.

National City was loud, too, but loud in the sense that there’s always an echo from the canyons of skyscrapers, always a horn blaring around the corner. The crashes and bongings and rattles and shouts are more immediate in Metropolis, all compacted, stacked as they are like perfect little blocks set atop one another for the sake of remaining ground space. If the buildings grow any taller, Cat thinks they will surely topple, a lesson learned for humanity’s hubris, its attempts at defying such untenable forces like _gravity_ or _physics_.

It’s loud in Metropolis because she doesn’t have the benefit of owning an entire building, or owning a house as opposed to an apartment considering the speed with which she left National City. In the sprawl of California, sound dissipates. It’s not as silent as it is here, a lodge in the mountains reserved for holiday, but it is quieter than Superman’s hometurf.

Sure, Cat could’ve taken a turn-key place in a lower borough, set several yards away from other semi-detached abodes (quiet _er_ , but not silent), but she would’ve had to sacrifice proximity to Carter’s new school; and though he was straddling the fine line between manhood and childhood, with his changing voice and his first razor and his sudden need for better-smelling deodorant, Cat could still watch out for Carter in minor ways. If that meant picking a smaller place with less privacy in the middle of the city that cut his morning subway commute time in half, then so be it. It’s not as if she was traveling to an office daily, anymore.

She takes another sip of red wine—wine, not scotch, another change that’s come with cross-continental upheaval—and tugs at the blanket she has wrapped round her shoulders.

She’s only just back from Tokyo, and prior to that, Dubai, and before that, Zurich, she thinks, or was it Amsterdam? Not Paris, or she would’ve stopped in to see Amélie. But it was some European capital or another, speaking with a United Nations rep about her plans for the future, about what CatCo could do for the global press during these uncertain times. She has many projects in the works, all merely brain-children at this point, some cast-off or abandoned and others nurtured with far more care than she gives her balcony garden back in Metropolis. In the end, she hopes to achieve something great, something that might be able to give back long after she’s well and truly retired.

She looks back to her bedroom, cozy, neutral tones behind rough-hewn cedar walls. It’s rather on-the-nose as far as vacation lodges go, the fire, the fir trees, the seclusion, but Cat enjoys it, the respite from the noise. Carter is sleeping and her laptop is humming, her outline for chapter four awaiting further development.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing you anywhere other than the CatCo balcony, Ms. Grant.”

There’s not a shift in the wind, or a tingle down her back, or even a shooting star zipping overhead. No sign, no forewarning, and no fuzzy feeling beyond that which the wine provides.

“Unfortunately,” Cat smirks, taking another sip of wine before setting the long-stemmed glass atop the wooden railing, “there is nothing I can do about that.” Cat looks up at Kara-in-disguise and can already guess the reason for the visit. Millennials are so sensitive, sometimes. “How are you, Supergirl?”

“I have been better,” Supergirl answers, descending slowly, dropping her hands so that her cape no longer flares, so that she loses just a smidgen of that unearthly power she radiates when hovering above those who will always remain earthbound. “…and you, Ms. Grant? You’ve found somewhere else to focus your efforts rather than your media empire?”

“It’s the holidays. An escape from the city madness is understandable, certainly,” Cat says, motioning toward the quiet forest. Snow clings to fir trees and soft light pours onto the deck from Cat’s bedroom beyond, casting a golden glow against Supergirl’s skin.

“And yet the holiday issues don’t print themselves.”

“I can still oversee things from another time zone, wilderness be damned,” Cat quips, biting down the _Kiera_ that’s fighting its way up her throat. “I’d not let it all go to ruin. Though James is about to get a thorough talking-to.”

“James Olsen?” Supergirl asks. “ From what I’ve seen, James has—”

“Found better use of his time than running my company,” Cat interjects. “I tapped him because he is qualified, competent, and possesses occasional insight. Though you wouldn’t know it with how often he’s out of the office.”

“I’m sure there’s a perfectly good reason for him to be out and about, Ms. Grant,” Supergirl challenges her. “Things in National City haven’t stopped since you left.”

The silence that follows weighs more like accusation than Cat would like.

“I never expected them to,” Cat returns. “I did, however, hope the institutions which I helped establish would operate with a bit more professional decorum than has been displayed in previous weeks. James takes off in the middle of the day, skips out on corporate evening events and hasn’t yet fired that incompetent Tessmacher, which only means he’s not assigning her work of any importance. James is MIA, the board is in an utter tizzy without me there to hand-hold, and then, there’s you.”

“Me?” Supergirl scrunches her brows together.

“Did you, or did you not, fly all the way out into the wilderness during your holiday to call me out on the _Notes_ spread in the most recent issue?”

“How did you—I mean,” Supergirl tosses her golden curls back over her shoulder and bobs her head once, averting her eyes because Cat’s caught her, caught her as she had back in those early days when she’d done too much too soon, torn a tanker in half and left the bay flooded with oil, made too many messes with little regard for the clean-up teams swooping in behind her. “I’m Supergirl, Ms. Grant. I know there will be bad press and… not everyone will agree with what I do. I just don’t really understand why so much of it is coming from CatCo.”

“The magazine never cut you any slack while I was managing editor,” Cat returns, propping one elbow atop the wooden railing. “Did you think that just because I left I would advise them to give you a free pass when you started acting reckless?”

“I hardly think that attending a concert is reckless,” Supergirl argues. “I was there as a favor to a friend. A fundraiser—fireworks, one song, a little cape waving. Really, Ms. Grant, a handful of pictures with Beyoncé for charity’s sake hardly constitutes—”

“So where did the money go, hmm?” Cat asks. “How much of the funding really went to charity, because I’ve commissioned many a rock star for corporate events and their fees are no where near the _charitable_ range.”

“I don’t exactly keep my eyes on the numbers for the—”

“Do you know how many non-profits CatCo supports?”

“Thirty-sev—uh,” Kara stumbles, knocks one knuckle against the wooden railing so hard the knotted pine splinters under the pressure. Snow shudders off of the beams of the wooden deck and falls softly to the ground. “I mean—”

“Whenever CatCo hosts a charity event, at least 20% of the proceeds do have to be used to pay for some of the production value. The bigger the name, the bigger the donations. It’s one thing if you’re filing under 501(c)3 status, Supergirl, but private companies don’t front the entire project budget during these one-off charity events. CatCo never did, and we’ve made that knowledge public.”

“I don’t think this crest on the cover of a few gossip rags with a Grammy winner or two means I’m deserving of a lecture on the tax code,” Kara grumbles.

“Call _Notes_ a gossip rag again, and just you wait until I write an op-ed on ‘Supergirl Goes Super-Celeb’ for the _Trib_ ,” Cat snips. “We beat _Rolling Stone_ ’s September and October print sales in music press and we plan to do it again in December.”

“I don’t care what _Notes_ did numbers-wise as long as you stop making me sound like some attention-starved C-lister!”

Cat scoffs and rolls her eyes, unable to stomach a superhero throwing a temper tantrum.

“What corporation were you partnering with? For the concert, which one?”

Kara mumbles as she had in her early days, and again, it’s instinctive, that little snap burbling up from the bottom of her throat. Supergirl was not this meek when Cat left her, not this deferential, which leaves Cat to assume that the stories in the _Trib_ and _Notes_ and _CatCo Magazine_ have been affecting Kara more than she’s letting on.

“You criticized me for standing with L-Corp,” Kara says. “I had one picture with Lena Luther and it’s above-the-fold in the _Trib_ two days in a week.”

“I criticized you for standing with Max Lord as well, or have you forgotten that time I talked you out of bombing a few hundred thousand people? Less photographic evidence on that occasion,” Cat replies, turning on her heel to take a seat on the lounge chair near the fire pit, unlit, but at least not as close to Kara as she had been. She yanks her blanket into place over her body and settles back against the cushions, hunkering down as the cold seeps into her bones.

“The concert was harmless. People had a great time,” Kara argues. “We dropped a few hints in the papers and donations tripled. Ms. Grant, it’s nearly Christmas, surely I can use my celebrity to raise—”

“What if it hadn’t been the general populace that noticed those hints, K—Supergirl?” Cat asks, cocking one skeptical brow up at a protégé who needs more than hand-holding. Cat could never fault Kara for assuming the best in people but she could warn her, advise her, and it seems that without Cat there to state the obvious Supergirl’s gone a little off-track. “I know you would never deliberately exploit your name for gain, Supergirl, but you aren’t just a celebrity.”

“What am I, then?”

“An ideal,” Cat begins, chewing on her lip in thought. “A target.” She knocks back the last of the wine in one fell gulp. She hunches over her knees and rubs her hands together, taking a quick breath through her nose. “You think I’m letting my publications rake you over the coals for taking selfies with twelve-year-olds? Please,” Cat scoffs. “Give me more credit.”

“I don’t understand the issue, then,” Kara retorts.

“How has your black-ops team not alerted you to the obvious safety concerns?” Cat asks, tugging the blanket closer about her shoulders.

“They have, and they’re wrong,” Kara says. “I can take care of the people at the events I attend if—”

“No,” Cat cuts her off. “You do not get to risk innocent lives because the adoration gives you the warm-and-fuzzies. This time last year you were flying into buildings while you were fighting your first android, so yes, we all concede, you’ve come a long way. But you are not infallible. You start publicizing your appearances and people will die, Supergirl, no matter how fast, no matter how strong, no matter how… _super_ you are.”

Kara whips her cape off in such a quick flourish Cat jumps, scoots toward the edge of the outdoor seat so fast she thinks she might topple over.

“I’m sorry,” Kara says, shoulders sinking in the lowlight. She takes a tentative step forward and extends the cape, “You looked… cold.”

“Oh,” Cat answers, waiting for the blow-up, the rebuttal, the backlash because at least Kara’s _arguing_ , debating, she’s not just taking this lying down. “Thank you,” Cat mutters, curling her fingers over the cape, draping it over her legs and plunging her hands beneath the fleecy fabric.

“I’m… going to light the fire, if that’s okay?”

Cat makes an absent gesture toward the pit, half-roasted logs and ash heaped into the trough. Lasers flash out of the corner of Cat’s sightline and she starts at the flames, clutching tighter to Kara’s cape as the silence fades beneath the crackle of the logs.

“I didn’t come here to fight,” Kara whispers, quiet enough that only the forest might hear her. Cat does hear her, though, mainly because Kara is sitting right beside her, and Cat can feel the heat of her body searing through pajama pants and Kryptonian capes and downy blankets.

“You came here because I’m critiquing you.”

“Criticizing.”

“Yes,” Cat nods, staring into the leaping flames before her.

 _My parents died in a fire_.

“You’re too important to be wasting your time rubbing elbows with those beneath you,” Cat sighs, running tired fingers into her sandy-lidded eyes. “Don’t make the dreadful mistakes I made in the 80s with Jefferson Starship.”

“You were on a space craft?”

“Don’t play dumb, Kara, it’s beneath you.”

“M-Ms. Grant,” Supergirl says, curling her fingers into fists in her lap.

“I can’t keep doing this for you, Kara,” Cat looks skyward, as if Kara’s origins might have a better answer for her. “If you are going to be Supergirl, then _be her_. Own it. Can’t you see how far above us you reach?”

“You ground me,” Kara grabs her hand and squeezes, tight enough to fracture something important. But she doesn’t, bones don’t break, never in Kara’s grip, never under her watchful eye, not while they’re both wrapped up in the fluttering expanse of her flame-retardant cape.

“That’s what I’m trying to do with those damn articles,” Cat hisses. “It’s the only way I know how to guide you when I’m not—”

“Come back,” Kara pleads, aching in the starlight. “Come back and set me straight, then. You must know..." Cat watches as Kara bites her lower lip and stares resolutely at the fire before them. She blinks twice, and Cat has never found her more lovely. "No more auctions, no more concerts, no more photo ops.”

“Unless it’s a _Trib_ exclusive,” Cat smirks.

“Hypocrite.”

“Occasionally,” Cat dips her head, and the silence resurges like a wave back on the shores north of National City. She has a beach house there, had retreated to cool, cream-colored tiles and linen curtains and breezy beachfront in her—what was it?—fourth month with Kara on the job? And two weekends in a row Kara had taken that awful city bus up the I-90 and carted in file after file, all for some project that ended up on the cutting room floor. And she had done so with grace and duty and professionalism, with a smile tucked away at the corner of her mouth, just for Cat, even working over time on the weekends.

“You know why you can’t continue with planned events, don’t you?” Cat leads. “You’re smarter than that.”

“Yes,” Kara answers. “But it’s… hard,” Kara shrugs, and doesn’t move away when Cat drapes the extra fabric of the cape over her legs, bundling her close. “It’s nice to know that people like me.”

“You do fly high, but take care up on the wind stream, Icarus,” Cat reprimands her.

“I will,” Kara promises, huddling closer despite herself. “But I miss you, and events like that offer distraction when I need it.”

“As opposed to your other job that I actually _pay_ you for?”

“Snapper doesn’t like me,” Kara answers. “We’ve been through this.”

“Well Perry White _hated_ me, and look where I am now.”

“In the middle of a forest with a hapless alien at your side?”

“No wonder Snapper dislikes you. You’re terrible at spin,” Cat mumbles. “The headline could read: Cat Grant’s Fireside Chat with National City’s Girl of Steel.”

“Trite,” Kara mimics her on her worst days.

“Indeed,” Cat replies, squeezing Kara’s hand to comfort her. “But I can’t come back yet, Supergirl. You need to figure out who you are without me before I do.”

“You make it sound like we’re breaking up, Ms. Grant,” Kara murmurs, and Cat turns to catch her stare, gleaming flares of orange flickers and black shadows leaping over her stricken expression. “I’d expect a more original line from you.”

“Clichéd truths over originality, I suppose,” Cat answers, feeling her lips tuck up into a wobbly grin when Kara turns to face her, tears brimming just as Cat’s are. “Soon, Kara. Be a reporter. Be Supergirl. Be those many people I know you’ll be without me there to slot you into any limiting roles.”

“You never limited me,” Kara says. “You gave me chance after chance and I—”

“Need a new role model,” Cat says. “I’ll be the first to admit I’m larger-than-life. The only woman in National City who could share the stage with you. But that’s not who I am to you anymore, and it’s not who you need, either. That city, this _world_ , Kara, it’s yours. Yours to protect. It’s so much to shoulder but you can do it. You have to be better than us. ‘Only human’ is no excuse for you.”

“I know,” Kara nods, tears breaking free despite her attempts to remain strong. “It’s so hard but I do know that, I just…Cat…”

“Soon,” Cat’s hands move of their own accord. She releases the cape and pulls the back of Kara’s neck down, places a gentle kiss against her forehead and lingers there for as long as sanity will allow her the indulgence. “I’ll be back soon. But until then, keep the city safe for me.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all I’ve ever asked of you, Kara. All anyone could ask.”

They stay by the fireside until Cat can no longer feel her toes, numbness creeping in despite the padded fleece socks special ordered from Barney’s, despite Kara’s alien fabric combating the little winds stirring this deeply in the wood. Cat remembers the hazy blues and violets of charred ash and curling smoke, remembers Kara’s strong arms gathering her up and pulling her close on that padded outdoor recliner. She doesn’t remember falling asleep, or returning to her bed for the evening. She doesn’t remember Kara whispering goodbye, or pulling the blanket up near her neck to make sure she’s snugly set for the rest of the night.

She wakes the next morning to a text, a simple ‘Thank you, Ms. Grant,’ and doesn’t feel compelled to reply. Instead she rolls over and stretches muscles and joints that ache a little more severely on cold mornings than they once did. She rises, pads into the living area and sets to preparing breakfast for her son, secure in the knowledge that Kara feels safe enough to seek her out whenever she truly needs her.

 

* * *

 

 


End file.
